A Conversation with Santa

Santa Claus stopped by my house on Christmas Eve. That isn’t really an uncommon occurrence for most people because that’s his job. We all know the story – he goes from house to house to deliver presents on Christmas Eve. What was unusual is that he had already stopped by my house sometime earlier in the week, and at that time, he did so with his usual stealth and invisibility. So I was quite surprised when about 1 a.m., there was a knock at the door. I was awake because I work nights at the local motel and tend to be up nights even on my days off. I opened the door to see the big guy in his red suit, the reindeer parked on my lawn out front. “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas, Shad.” I was shocked because in my 25 years on this planet I had never actually seen the big guy, and in truth, I had always thought that if you were to see him, he wouldn’t come to your house ever again. I stood there with my mouth agape when the radio came on playing “Here Comes Santa Claus” by Bing Crosby. It gently shook me from my surprise and allowed me to regain my manners. “Merry Christmas, Santa! Come in. Come in.” Santa stepped through the door, wiped his feet on the carpet and took off his outer jacket, which he used in the sleigh. I gave him his choice of chairs; he chose the rocker. He took out a pipe and clenched it in his teeth. I wrinkled my nose a bit, but he assured me that he didn’t smoke anymore. “Just an old habit.” “Santa, can I offer you some coffee, egg nog, milk, apple juice, cocoa or tea?” He sat there chewing on his pipe. “I hear that you make a pretty good cup of coffee.” “I’m no European, but I do my best.” After I had ground up the beans and started the brewing, I sat down in one of my dining chairs still amazed to see Santa Claus in my house. I know he had been there before – he had eaten cookies, drank milk, left presents and Christmas greetings – but knowing and actually seeing are two different things. “Shad,” he finally spoke with the gurgling coffee brewing in the background,” how is it that you never stopped believing in me?” “What do you mean, Santa? I thought everyone believed in you.” He laughed at that, his eyes twinkling. “I know you’re not that naïve, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” “You’re serious?” My brow wrinkled. “Of course I am. Haven’t you seen the kids’ Christmas lists lately? High-tech gadgetry, fads, mass-produced plastic… Nobody wants anything made with love and care anymore.” “Well, Santa, I am the first one to lament the commercialization of Christmas, but I have to admit that I wasn’t much different when I was young.” “Yes, I suppose that’s true, but it somehow feels different this year.” For the first time, I noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “Well, Santa, when I began to doubt your existence, mom told me that you wouldn’t come to the house anymore. Of course, I wanted the presents you would bring, so I believed. Then there was this one Christmas that we spent at Disneyland. You brought a couple of gifts to the hotel, but that isn’t what I remember. What I remember is that when we got home, there were more presents under the tree than my sister and I could count. I tried to explain you away, but there was no satisfactory answer. Mom and grandma were both at Disneyland with my sister and me. There was absolutely no one else who could have delivered those gifts. So it had to be you. During my teens, I realized that you were more than a person; you were the spirit of Christmas. It didn’t matter if there were an actual personification of Santa Claus; it only mattered that his spirit existed. Besides, Christmas would be a much less jolly holiday if you didn’t exist.” He sat there for a time not saying anything. I handed him a cup of coffee. He nodded his head in thanks and took a sip. “MMM, this is good coffee.” “Thank you, but as I said, the better coffee is in Europe. You didn’t need any cream or sugar with that, did you?” “Oh no, it’s fine the way it is.” “Can I get the reindeer anything?” “No, they’ve had plenty of carrots this evening.” He sat there sipping the coffee looking into the distance. “You know, Christmas is supposed to be about more. Even if you take the religious meanings out of it.” “I know, Santa.” “So why is it that it doesn’t mean more? Why is it about how much profit the retailers can make? Why is it about the most expensive gift? Why is it about the bottom line?” “I don’t know, Santa.” There was a tear forming in his eye that made me feel sadder than any tragedy. “Santa, we’re doing the best we can. Both of us – I know, maybe I could work on it more, but you are totally unselfish. You are the way we should all be. We can’t ever give up; we just have to do our best.” “I know, Shad.” The single tear rolled down his cheek and into his beard. “It’s just that some years it’s so hard to believe that even I am doing anything for the good of the world. Some years, the weight of the world’s problems is too much to bear, and I wonder why I go on.” “Santa, you go on because you have to. You don’t have a choice; you are who you are. Besides, what else would you and your elves do? Work for a toy manufacturer?” He gave a chuckle at that. “I suppose you’re right.” “Remember that you aren’t the only one hurt by the world’s brutality and that your existence does help in this bleak world. Who knows, maybe in the future there will be more people like you than like Scrooge before his change. Until then, we’ll both do what we can.” Santa looked at me, smiled and took a last sip of coffee. He got up, went to the door, grabbed his jacket, opened the door and stepped into the cold of early morning. “Merry Christmas, Shad.” I went over to the door and extended my hand. “Merry Christmas, Santa.” He took off his glove, shook my hand and went to his sleigh. His reindeer took to the sky, and I knew that I may never see him again but that the Christmas spirit, while it may wax and wane, it would never die.